


an unusual flowering

by annejumps



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Charles in a Wheelchair, Dubious Consent, F/M, Sex Pollen, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Across his desk, Jean is staring at him strangely. She's breathing harder, and her pupils are dilating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an unusual flowering

**Author's Note:**

> I posted a shorter version of this on an anon meme in response to a prompt.

He really should know better than to open strange packages of unknown origin, especially with a young student present, Charles thinks as he stares, brow furrowed, at the odd little plant that was in the unmarked hatbox. A cloud of pollen from its bright red blossoms hovers in the air over his desk, and he can feel the grains tickling his nose. Its scent is strong, but not unpleasant.

He looks up at a sharp spike of distress. Across his desk, Jean is staring at him strangely. She's breathing harder, and her pupils are dilating. 

"Professor," she gasps suddenly, and before he can react the normally private and coolly composed Jean climbs onto and over his desk, pushes his chair back with her power, and gets in his lap. Her face is pink and blotchy, and her eyes are welling with tears, seemingly from embarrassment. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know wh— I have to—" and she's straddling him, hiking her skirt up. He realizes from her moan and the way she's rubbing against him that something must have happened that's usually only accomplished with certain pharmaceuticals and other aids. He looks down as her small slender hands find his flies and fumble around in his underwear and—yes, it has. 

He really must put a stop to this, whatever’s started it…. Entirely inappropriate…. 

He feels like he’s moving through molasses, and the air seems warm, thick. He glances into her mind to try and understand what on Earth is happening, and just when he sees she's completely dazed with lust, as if drugged, the full force of it hits him, too, like a punch.

"It's all right, it's all right, Jean darling," he murmurs, voice shaking, as he pulls her wet panties to the side and barely has time to move his hand out of the way before she sinks down on him, moaning and shuddering, almost deaf to his reassurances. 

Yes, this is good, this is perfect, he thinks, his hands going up under her top to unhook her bra and cup her bare, firm breasts. She can only tilt her head back and groan as she moves on him, hands gripping his shoulders, her wry sense of humor nowhere in evidence now, but that doesn't matter, nothing matters but what’s happening at this moment.

And surely she won't mind—or possibly even realize it—if he gets into her head and feels what she's feeling as she comes around him in a tight clenching and he, unbelievably, comes deep inside her.

She comes again, and again, tears slipping down her cheeks, lips parted and eyes closed, and he can’t stop touching her, can’t keep his hands off her warm, soft skin. All he wants is this, and somewhere deep down he knows this is wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this, even if he has thought about her… like this… before. All he wants is for her to have him inside her. That’s all she wants, too. But it has to stop, it has to stop…. Doesn’t it?

At last it begins to fade, the fog begins to clear. Exhausted, she slumps forward onto him, her skin slick with sweat. _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_. He hears her gulp. He doesn’t know how much time has elapsed, and is thanking God that no one’s come to his office, considering they’d both been completely remiss in monitoring anything else going on around them. He considers the horrible idea that someone has, but they slipped away, unnoticed. But a quick scan tells him no one has.

He clasps her bra again, smooths her top back down. “You mustn’t feel badly,” he whispers, wincing internally at how hoarse his voice sounds, how dry his throat is. _It’s not your fault. It was the plant, I’m sure of it_. She nods, and raises herself from his lap to stand on shaky legs, hastily straightening out her skirt. She’s still tear-stained and flushed. He puts his clothes back in order.

She bites her lip, and then opens her mouth to speak. It takes her a moment; in the meantime he’s unable to discern what she’s thinking, either because he’s still not back to himself or because she’s blocking him.

“I…. I sent you the plant,” she says. 

“Jean—” 

“I didn’t know it was going to… do that!” she says, shaking her head, a little frantic. “A woman gave it to me—she said I should give it to you, as a present. That you’d like it, but that I had to keep it a surprise until you had it. I thought keeping it secret would be good practice for blocking.”

Charles clears his throat. Even with the effect of the plant worn off, he can’t stop thinking about the fact that she’s standing there with his come inside her. God, the very idea. Unreal. He closes his eyes, pinches his brow. “This can’t happen again,” he says, and he means to say it with conviction, but it sounds hollow. 

She takes a deep breath, and he as he opens his eyes he looks at her breasts and can’t help thinking about how they’d felt in his hands, can’t help wanting to feel that again. Sighing, he wonders who the woman was who gave Jean this plant, and what exactly they’ve set in motion here today.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Trying to Forget](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8124073) by [still_lycoris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris)




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